


We'll go slow and high tempo

by embracelouis



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Face-Fucking, Famous Louis, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Journalist Harry, M/M, Model Louis, Non-Famous Harry, Riding, Smut, still can't believe I've written something with no angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 13:29:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5930203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embracelouis/pseuds/embracelouis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Apprentice journalist Harry Styles has a bit of a crush on former football player turned Adidas model Louis Tomlison.</p><p>A fortuitous encounter with his ex colleague Liam might lead to an interesting turn in Harry's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We'll go slow and high tempo

**Author's Note:**

> Totally self-indulgent fic inspired by [this vine](http://louisgotpappedsnoggingt.tumblr.com/post/138792917320/harryslittletits-pocketrocketyolo-louis) and written overnight.
> 
> Major thanks to my beta [Maddie](nightwide.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> The title is from “Pillowtalk” by Zayn Malik. This song has been on repeat for the whole time while I was writing this.
> 
> Louis is such a babe here. Maybe I'm trying to make up for all the other times I've made him into an asshole ^^'?  
> I don't know much about fashion so bear with me.

Were he to describe himself in this very moment, Harry would have to say he's an over caffeinated, essentially inexperienced journalist at an Adidas fashion event, wearing the fanciest clothes he owns and too much hair product. He'll definitely have to add that to his CV after tonight.

Earlier that afternoon, Harry had gone through the task of gathering as much information as he could in the shortest span of time possible about Louis Tomlinson, an ex-football player turned Adidas model. He'd found out Louis had been a promising footballer since his early days, that he never finished sixth form because he'd been scouted as a reserve for Manchester United. Louis' football career had been like the trajectory of a comet. It had reached its highest, albeit short, peak rather fast and then an even faster fall from grace had ensued. When he was twenty-two, Louis had busted his knee, and not in a pretty way. It was shocking for many football fans when he'd announced his intention to retire from football at the ripe age of twenty-three.

While playing for Man U, Louis'd already been somewhat involved with Adidas. So some eight months after his injury, he began doing photoshoots and tv commercials for the brand. He promptly became one of the official faces of the Adidas brand, and made it to the front page of every UK tabloids when he came out as gay.

In his coming out interview, Louis had said that by being a closeted gay footballer, he'd always felt like he was living a double life. He claimed that no one outside of the football scene could ever imagine how many players hide their sexuality, and that he's always found it deplorable, adding that the reason why homophobia isn't a taboo yet is because still too many famous people choose to hide this part of themselves from the public eye, thus perpetrating the idea that homosexuality is something to be ashamed of.

Harry was half in love with Louis Tomlinson as soon as he'd read the article. And he was going to see the man in the flesh that night. It took him three hours to get ready; he even got his sister to do his hair and make-up and help him choose an outfit that was professional but hot at the same time. Not like he thought he had a chance with Louis Tomlinson, but a boy could dream, right?

Anyway, he still wanted to look his best.

Louis Tomlinson looks nothing like Harry had imagined in person. On the magazine ads and TV commercials he resembles your typical, muscly model, covered in too much oil, with too many tattoos and the phoney just-got-out-of-bed look to his hair. Louis' peculiarities include glass-cutting cheekbones and a pair of too-bright-to-be-authentic blue eyes.

But as a matter of fact, Louis' eyes are just as stunning from where Harry's standing a few meters away from him, completely dazzled. They look even more blue than how they appear on telly. Louis is talking to some old men in suits, and Harry is just supposed to observe him and write a two-hundred word report of the event. Harry thinks life is so, so unfair.

“Harry Styles?” 

Harry whips his head around, the voice vaguely familiar.

“Liam! Oh my God, what a surprise. What are you doing here? I haven't seen you in ages.” Liam's bear-hug is just like Harry remembers it from their uni days.

“Yeah, last time I saw you you'd just thrown up in your suit jacket sleeve,” Harry says with a shit-eating grin.

“Oh, don't remind me,” Liam laughs with fake annoyance, “That was the worst night of my life. Anyway, is that a press pass?” Liam asks, pointing to Harry's chest.

“Oh, yes. I write for this little magazine. Nothing fancy, but I'm trying to get a bit of experience. Actually, I shouldn't even have been here tonight. But one of my colleagues caught the flu, and I was the only one who could cover for them.”

“Well, that's brilliant! Join me at the bar!” Liam exclaims, slinging an arm around Harry's shoulders. The bar is comprised of a long neon blue counter, much like the prominent colour of the new Adidas collection. Liam orders a dry martini (eugh) while Harry asks for something fruity and not too much alcoholic.

“I'm feeling a bit starstruck to be honest.” Harry admits, sipping on the cocktail through his straw. It tastes like pineapple and strawberry, with an aftertaste of Triple Sec. 

“Why? Not used to being around famous people?”

“No, that doesn't bother me. The fact those models are famous or whatever. It's just, some of them are so hot. What are you doing here by the way? You haven't told me.”

“I work as personal assistant. Dream job, I tell you. I get to attend to a bunch of nonsense errands and respond to all of my client's needs, I reckon it's like having a kid. But instead of having to financially support them, it's the other way around.”

“Sounds fun.” Harry realises mid-sip that Louis Tomlinson is approaching the bar too and it takes all of his self-control to not start spluttering his drink in Liam's face.

“Oh, speak of the devil.” Liam vigorously pats Louis' back.

“Hey,” Louis Tomlinson says, and Harry's so grateful that he's sitting on a stool. He would've fainted otherwise. 

“This is Louis Tomlinson. Louis, this is Harry, an Oxford friend of mine. Well sort of, we lost touch after graduation.” Liam's blabbering hasn't done anything to quiet down the whistling sound in Harry's ears. Is this real life? Is Liam really introducing him to the most handsome model Adidas has ever employed?

“Nice to meet you, Harry?” Louis extends his hand and Harry's handshake has never been so limp, what a way to make a good impression. 

“Harry,” Harry repeats dumbly.

“Harry Styles,” Liam supplies, and Harry is infinitely grateful. “He's a journalist for, what magazine did you say you work for?”

“Actually, I never said. It's, um,” Harry smoothes down his jacket, his mind empty for a terrifying fraction of a second. “It's _Millennial Man_.”

Louis' eyes sparkle and Harry's knees are threatening to give in, he once again thanks the gods above he's already in a seated position. But despite Louis' glinting smile, he's dead serious when he replies, “Never heard of it, must be one of those lame lower tier rags.”

Harry chokes on his breath. But Liam's sudden, hearty laughter takes him by surprise.

“Don't take it personally, Harry, Louis here likes to randomly offend people. Especially when they're tall, pretty boys like you.”

“Who said he's tall?” Louis protests, eyeing Harry up and down while Harry shrinks under the scrutiny. He's positive he has never felt so small in his entire life.

“It's because he's sitting. Stand up, mate,” Liam says, grabbing Harry's elbow.

When Harry's stood in all his glorious height, which isn't that glorious since he barely made it to six feet last year when he turned twenty-one, he notices Louis is at least a few inches shorter. Amazing what a good angle and photoshop can do, since Louis looks anything but tiny in the commercials. But if Tom Cruise can get away with being virtually as tall as a tomato, surely being below average height hasn't detered Louis' modeling career in the slightest.

Louis is staring at him now, chin jutted out and an unimpressed look in his eyes. “Yeah, I guess he's just a tad taller than me.” Liam's caught in another laughing fit, before he takes his hand to his ear and his face turns into the epitome of seriousness. Harry hadn't even registered that Liam was wearing an ear-piece.

“Ok, Harry, it was a real pleasure. Louis has to meet with some of our sponsors. See you at the afterparty?” 

“Um, I don't think this will get me into the afterparty,” Harry says hesitantly, holding up his pass.

“Rubbish, just tell one of the bouncers you're Mr. Payne's friend, they'll let you in. See you later.”

“Bye Harry,” Louis says, nonchalant, like Harry's entire world hasn't just been turned upside down.

Harry doesn't even know where the afterparty is.

*

Two hours later Harry's a bit beyond tipsy. It's not his fault the champagne they were serving was simply celestial and the cute waiter kept appearing at his side with more bubbly flutes, although perhaps only in the hope that Harry would ask for his number. But Harry's target for the night is not some what's-his-name guy he could've found anywhere else in London, but a very specific person. Yes, alcohol and too much behavioral cognitive therapy his mum (she's a psychologist) made him go through during his teenage years had him develop the delusion that if he really, really wants something there is no reason why he should not be able to achieve it. But Harry is well aware that having too much confidence sometimes is just as detrimental as having none.

But what does he have to lose? Literally nothing, since he already has all the material he needs for his article and he's on his way to an exclusive afterparty in the heart of Mayfair. He hasn't once been to Mayfair in his entire life, besides walking briefly through it. The taxi pulls up in front of a grey, anonymous building, but there's a bit of a crowd outside, so Harry knows Liam'd texted him the right address.

Harry manages to get inside the club without too much hassle, and he doesn't even have the time to feel a bit disoriented before Liam finds him. Louis is giving a mini speech at a private table, holding everyone's attention gracefully. When he sees Harry and Liam approaching, he looks at Harry and surreptitiously licks his lips. Harry doesn't know if it had been deliberate or not, but he has a very physical reaction and has to excuse himself to go to the loo.

He can't go back to the VIP section until his erection has at least turned into a semi, so he spends some quality time sitting on a toilet. He mindlessly thumbs through his phone contacts list, trying to think about everything that turns him off, like dead kittens or the smell of mouldy cheese.

When he finally reemerges he can't find Liam, so he opts for the bar. When his Tequila Sunrise is halfway gone, he spots Louis talking to a short blonde girl. There's a pinch of irrational jealousy in Harry's gut, before he comes to his senses and mentally slaps himself, because Louis Tomlinson is gay, duh. And he should definitely stop calling him with his full name in his head, that's creepy. When Harry sees the face of the blonde girl he feels even more stupid. It's Lottie Tomlinson, Louis' little sister as well as his personal make-up artist.

Both Louis and Lottie are staring back at him, probably creeped out. Harry knows all too well his eyes can get pretty intense and hair-raising, especially when he feels hopelessly turned on like in this very moment. Despite this awareness, Harry doesn't look away and this has to be ascribed to the quantity of alcohol currently streaming through his veins. Lottie disappears into the crowd and Louis strides towards him.

“Liam was wondering if you'd left already,” Louis shouts into Harry's ear, and his unexpected proximity is enough to cause Harry's heart-rate to double. The fact is, Louis smells fucking amazing. Yeah, Harry knows that when you find someone so unbearably hot it's inevitable you'll find they smell great too. But Louis' cologne is otherworldly good, and Harry's drawn into a magnetic field that has its centre right where Louis' standing.

“No, I'm still here,” and that's the lamest reply Harry could've offered. Okay, he needs to think about a better one, right now. But Louis speaks again before Harry has time to formulate one.

“You're pretty hot.” Louis' directness goes straight to Harry's crotch, and now is really Harry's opportunity to utter the smartest, flirtiest, most irresistible comeback ever.

“Can I give you a blow job?” As soon as that's out in the open, Harry takes the executive decision of cutting his own tongue off at the next opportunity. If he survives the embarrassment this'll cause, that is.

Louis doesn't even blink. Although, even in the intermittent lights of the club, Harry can see that he's turned a bit pink. “How about we dance a bit first?” Louis asks, smirking like a motherfucker.

Harry sighs in relief. Neither of them say anything then. Louis takes his hand and leads them into the throbbing, vaguely sweaty crowd. They start off by moving awakwardly in front of each other. Harry usually doesn't get self-conscious about dancing with someone, but it all depends on the music. When the DJ puts on “Single Ladies”, Harry knows it's either going to end up in a disaster or a blasting success. Amongst his uni friends, Harry was famous for being the one who liked clubbing more because of the singing than the dancing, and that's something that hasn't yet changed. So Harry belts along Beyoncé's voice, not that anyone can hear him above the general roaring noise. Or maybe Louis can, because he's doubled up in laughter, but that might be becase Harry's also mimicking the “put a ring on it” choreography, insistently pointing to his ring finger, Louis even copying him a couple of times.

The next song to come up is “Talk Dirty” and Harry suddenly knows it's now or never. He turns around and moves backwards until his back is flush to Louis' chest. Harry's full on grinding against Louis when it's time for the chorus, and he can hear Louis shouting talk dirty to me, the scruff on his chin rubbing against Harry's earlobe. Harry's so turned on he's ready to throw any ounce of inhibition left in him out of the window. But when he turns around again, fully intent on pouncing, Louis dodges the kiss. Harry feels like he's just stumbled and fallen into a ditch. Louis shakes his head apologetically, and he takes Harry's hand and drags him to the outskirts of the dancefloor.

“Not like that,” Louis says, “Do you want to get out of here?” Afer a light squeeze, he lets go of Harry's hand.

“Yes,” Harry replies, pretty sure he's wearing an idiotic smile. 

Louis extracts his phone from his back pocket and quickly types something. He looks at Harry with what is probably meant to be a reassuring smile. “I'm telling Liam we're leaving.”

Harry nods, because he doesn't know what other embarrassing things his warped brain will come up with if he dares speak again. Yes, silence is definitely the winning choice. After less than a minute a bulky man approaches them. Louis grips Harry's hand once again and they leave the dancefloor, ending up in an empty corridor.

“Who's this?” Harry asks, low so that the bulky man, a few paces ahead of them, can't hear him.

“Alberto. My bodyguard.”

“Oh,” Harry's talkativeness is null at the moment, but Louis doesn't seem to mind. 

Alberto leads them through a back door and they enter into a car with tinted windows.

“Is it okay if we go to my place?” Even as they settle in the backseat, Louis doesn't let go of his hand.

“Yeah,” Harry's uncomfortable, not because of Louis' suggestion, but because he's sporting the most raging boner in the history of humanity and his flies are most likely about to explode.

“Wait, are you alright? You've hardly said anything. You don't have to come if you don't want to.” Louis swipes his thumb across Harry's jaw, the touch feather-light. He's searching Harry's eyes.

“Yeah,” Harry says again, and he's furious because he always knows what to say in any situation. Talking is everything to him, asking questions and investigating and arguing. But now that his skills are most needed, his mind has gone hay-wire and his ability to talk smoothly has vanished. As he holds Louis' gaze though, he remembers about something he wanted to ask him. “No offence, but are you wearing coloured contact lenses?”

“I'm highly offended,” Louis chuckles, “and the answer is no.” He juts his nose up in the air, feigning indignation and that makes Harry feel ten times less tense.

“I should've known it, no artificially reproduced colour could look that wonderful,” Harry says, and he didn't want to sound cheesy but there's no in between when it comes to flattering someone as hot as Louis fucking Tomlinson. But Harry also knows that Louis' used to being showered with compliments, and he belatedly wishes he had said something more original

“Thank you,” Louis replies between lips stretched in a wide grin. They continue to stare at each other like two complete idiots for the rest of the drive.

When they step into Louis' house, an actual, bloody huge house in what Harry probably thinks is somewhere between Limehouse and Canary Wharf, Harry's head is reeling both from the alcohol and from the realisation he's a hair's breadth away from shagging an Adidas model. Well, he hopes he'll shag him, or at least suck him off.

When they're past the front door Louis throws his jacket on a leather armchair in the corner by the hall and Harry follows suit. Louis stops in his tracks and puts his hand on Harry's chest, palms splayed on Harry's shirt,warmth seeping through the cotton.

“If we're gonna do anything, you need to tell me what you want and how you want it. No more 'The Silent Game' with me, ok?” Louis sounds serious and Harry nods with matching gravity. “Use your voice, please.”

“Yes, I'll use my voice, I promise.” To be honest, Harry would start speaking parseltongue if that's what it took to get into Louis' pants.

“Now I'm going to kiss you, ok?”

“Yes,” Harry blurts.

Louis leans up until his nose is brushing Harry's. It's Harry that closes the final gap, his lips resting against Louis' for a second before starting to move. Louis' lips are thinner than his but they are incredibly soft and Harry wants more, so he nudges his tongue out, licking the seam of Louis' mouth, chills rippling down his spine. Louis opens his mouth and he tastes almost as good as he smells, but he's breaking off the kiss far too soon.

“You taste like alcohol,” he says, a frown etched on his forehead.

“I'm not drunk,” Harry's sobered up by now, he's sure of that.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, just fucking kiss me,” Harry cups Louis' face and draws him in again, “You can touch me anywhere you like,” he continues, partly annoyed and partly endeared. Louis nods against his lips and hugs Harry's waist, pulling their bodies together.

“You too,” Louis says between kisses. "What do you want then? Aside from kissing and touching.”

“Well, I wanted to give you a blow job if I remember correctly.” Louis nods and kisses him harder, one of his hands on Harry's nape. They're still standing in the hall, Harry's chin and upper lip already scratched raw from Louis' scruff.

“Let's move to the bedroom then.” Louis guides Harry through the dark house, not bothering to turn on any lights until they step into what Harry assumes is Louis' bedroom. Louis switches on the light and dims it until there's only a faint glow left. “How do you wanna do it?”

“On my knees,” Harry says, and before Louis can reply, Harry's sinking down, knees knocking on the soft carpet.

“We could've done that in the hall,” Louis' trying to sound unaffected, but Harry doesn't miss his sharp inhale when Harry's hand lands on the bulge in his trousers.

“It's hot like this too,” Harry unbuttons Louis' slacks and undoes the zipper. He's faced with a huge Adidas logo on the front of Louis' pants and he looks up with raised eyebrows.

“What? I get them for free,” Louis says, in lieu of a justification.

Harry scoffs and drags Louis' pants down alongside his trousers. Without playing around, Harry takes Louis in his mouth and starts to suck him off. Harry loves sucking people off, he's always prided himself on his blowjob skills. Judging by his moans, it seems like Louis' appreciating them too.

“Oh God, I knew you'd be good at this,” Louis' thighs are trembling beneath Harry's palms, “your mouth is so fucking hot, fuck.”

Harry lets go of Louis' length with a pop and glances up to Louis, “Do you want to fuck it? Fuck my mouth?”

“What, do you want me to?” Louis' voice catches.

“Yes, please,” Harry leaves a kiss on the head of Louis' cock, “hold my hair and fuck my mouth.”

“O – okay,” Louis stutters, “but if you want me to stop, hold your hand up. At any time, okay?”

“Yes, yeah I will,” Harry's eager response is enough to wipe away Louis' uncertainty. Louis grabs a handful of Harry's curls with his hands, as Harry engulfs him again with one swift movement. Louis' still a bit hesitant, but when Harry's hands move to the back of his thighs, Louis starts to thrust properly. Tears well up in Harry's eyes as he focuses on not gagging, saliva trickling out of the corners of his mouth.

“Oh my God, fuck,” Louis' whines gradually turn into low groans, “I might be close.”

Harry holds his hand up. Louis stops fucking into him at once and pants, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Harry's voice is gruff, he clears his throat and goes on, “I just don't want you to come like this.”

“Okay,” Louis' breathing heavily, and he starts to unbutton his shirt, “what did you have in mind then?”

“What do _you_ have in mind?” Harry's ideas are pretty clear but he wants Louis to have a say in this too, in case it turns out they're not on the same page.

“Well, we could fuck properly, if you want.”

Harry gets up and helps Louis out of his shirt, splaying his hands on Louis' bare chest, trailing the shape of his biceps with his fingers. “Yes, fuck me.”

“You sure?” Louis asks, and Harry rolls his eyes. “I mean, you want me to do the fucking?” Louis rectifies.

“Yes,” Harry kisses him, a bit roughly, still clutching his toned arms, “fuck me into the mattress please.”

Harry quickly undresses, discarding his clothes on the floor, and that's a testament to how fucking much Louis turns him on because they're the better clothes he owns and he'll 100% have to take them to the dry cleaner after tonight. Louis follows Harry onto the bed, settling on top of him. The touch of their naked skin is electric, and they kiss hungrily for a while, grinding against each other. But Harry doesn't want to come from dry-humping, so he pushes at Louis' chest.

“C'mon, open me up,” Harry's demanding, he knows it, but he can't wait to have Louis' dick in him. And, anyway, Louis wants him to use his voice, so here he is using it. Louis climbs off the bed and disappears into the en suite. He comes back a minute later, equipped with lube and a condom. Harry'd already spit on his hand and begun fingering himself with his middle finger.

“Someone's eager,” Louis comments.

“Yes, hurry up,” Harry's gagging for it, no use denying it at this point. Despite Harry's impatience, Louis fingers him like they have all the time in the world, building it up slowly so that each time he adds another finger Harry hardly feels anything but sheer pleasure. When he's three fingers in, Louis kisses him deep and slow before removing them altogether.

“You ready?” he asks, and Harry nods frantically.

“Do you want to be on your back? Or on top? Hands and knees?” Louis' technical blabber isn't doing anything to conceal his nerves. He's trying to open the condom wrapper with lube slick hands, failing every attempt.

“Here,” Harry takes the item in his hands, uncerimoniusly wipes it on the sheets, tears it open and gives it back to Louis. “I wanna ride you.”

Louis hums, focused on unrolling the condom. They exchange positions, Louis lies on his back and Harry straddles him. He takes Louis' cock in his hand and lines it up with his hole, his other hand on Louis' chest. Louis digs his fingertips in Harry's hips as Harry sinks down, eyes jammed shut in concentration, Louis' dick slowly filling him up. When he's bottomed out, Harry opens his eyes and takes a few deep breaths, waiting for the faint pinch between his arse cheeks to subside. Louis is looking at him with pure lust, and Harry starts to move, working his hips in tight circles, at the same time bouncing up and down using the strength in his thighs for leverage. 

Louis' writhing beneath him, bottom lip caught between his teeth, his face contorted in ecstasy.

“Do – do you like this?” Harry asks between laboured, shaky breaths.

“Yeah,” Louis replies with difficulty, every muscle in his body taut, his abs shiny with drops of Harry's pre-come, “but you're up there.”

Louis surges up, kissing Harry hard, teeth clattering at first, hands tangled in Harry's hair. Louis draws Harry down, hands wound around his waist and Harry's face presses into the curve of his neck. Harry's panting, both from the phisical strain and the waves of pleasure that shoot in his lower abdomen and from the bottom of his spine. Louis holds him down and starts to fuck into him, every push knocking the air out of Harry's lungs.

“Yes, yes come for me,” Louis urges, and Harry bites down on his neck because it's starting to feel like too much. He reaches one hand between them and starts to wank himself off in time with Louis' thrusts. It's sweaty, and tangled, and maybe a bit too rushed in the end, but the both of them had been on the edge for quite a while now and Harry comes way harder than how he was expecting, the corners of his vision going black. He's shuddering on top of Louis, Louis whispering encouragements into his ear, nipping at his earlobe. When Harry stops shivering, Louis goes completely still.

“Keep going,” Harry croaks, his breath choppy. He pushes down, his lower body caught between pleasure and a good kind of pain. Louis thrusts up at a much faster pace then, the tendons in his neck stretched like rope as he chases his release. Harry clenches his hole and molds their lips together, swallowing Louis' moans when Louis comes. When Louis lets go of his grip on Harry's waist, Harry keeps kissing him for a moment and then carefully lifts himself up, holding the base of the condom. He removes it and ties it off. Louis' tummy is covered in Harry's come.

“Could you grab a facecloth from the loo?” Louis looks at him with a frazzled smile, brows arched up. Harry throws the condom in the bin in the en-suite and brings back a towel to dry Louis off. Then Harry collapses on top of the damp sheets, Louis observing him with limpid eyes.

“You alright?” Louis asks, inching closer.

“Yes, I'm great,” Harry's beaming, even. If that afternoon, before he'd even seen him in person, Harry had been already half in love with Louis, he might as well be on his way to just 'in love' now. And that sucks, because in all likelihood this was just a one night stand.

“Wanna cuddle?” Louis opens his arms and Harry's tucked into Louis' side in a nanosecond. He's a real MVP in the cuddling department. And Louis is lovely and everything, but if this is the first and last time Harry gets to do this, then he'll take anything he can get. Louis hooks his ankle with Harry's and takes Harry's hand in his, lacing their fingers together. “Is this okay?”

Harry wants to roll his eyes. “Yes,” he laughs, leaving a peck on Louis' bare shoulder, his skin still warm and a bit sweaty. They're gross, actually, but Harry couldn't care less. “You're one of a kind,” he adds with a fond chuckle.

“Why?” Louis looks down to him with scrunched up eyebrows.

“You kept asking me if this or that was okay. Don't get me wrong, I really appreciated it, but like, you're the first person I ever met that –” Harry searches for the right words in his mind, “like, that insists so much on consent and on feedback. Yeah.”

“Consent is important Harry, no matter what age or gender your partner is, nevermind if they're famous or not,” Louis tightens his grip on Harry's shoulders, speaking in a frank voice, “I like to be sure someone wants me for me, not just because my name is a bit more known than someone else's or because everyone seems to think I want them to worship the ground I walk on. In the modelling world, everyone's always prodding and virtually no one asks if they can touch you beforehand. It's ugly, and I don't want to grope someone who might not want to be touched.”

Scratch that, Harry's unquestionably already in love.

“Wow,” Harry doesn't know what to say, but he knows he doesn't want to leave Louis' bed in the foreseeable future. “Wish I could keep you.”

“What do you mean?”

“That you're amazing. Apart from being ridiculously hot,” Louis' turning pink and Harry was wrong to assume Louis would've been more accustomed to people praising his physical appearance, “and, even if before tonight we were total strangers, you definitely seem one of the good ones.”

“Haha, yeah. I'm a keeper,” Louis jokes, and Harry thumbs at the crinkles by his eyes, already sad at the prospect of not seeing them this up-close ever again. “I mean, this doesn't have to be a one off, though, if that's what you meant,” Harry's hand stills, his breath catching. “But it's totally cool if you don't want to see me again, you don't have to feel obliged,” Louis hurries to add. Harry genuinely wants to slap his silly, pretty face.

“Of course I want to see you again, you moron,” Harry's fond is hard to hide at this point, and he lifts his head from Louis' chest to look at him properly. “If that's what what you want.”

“Yes, definitely.”

Louis kisses him deep and slow, Harry sighing contently into his mouth. They fall asleep with Harry as the little spoon, and Louis holds him close all night. When Harry wakes up beside him, his stomach is contorting itself into knots, but in a very positive way.

Harry will have to remember to send Liam a very big bouquet of flowers, or name him as the only direct heir of his business empire when Harry becomes a rich and famous journalist married to the most gorgeous model in all of the UK.

See, Harry knows no in between.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> There's a post for this fic on Tumblr [here](http://louisgotpappedsnoggingt.tumblr.com/post/139743101685/well-go-slow-and-high-tempo-louisharry-5k), perhaps reblog it or just come to say hi :)


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